


kinktober 2019 - day 27

by birdginia



Series: Kinktober 2019 [27]
Category: Fate/Zero, Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms
Genre: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Degradation, Depression, Exhibitionism, Gunplay, M/M, The Worst Possible Iteration Of Walking In On Your Parents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-06
Updated: 2019-11-06
Packaged: 2021-01-24 11:56:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21337843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/birdginia/pseuds/birdginia
Summary: He opens his mouth without protest when Kotomine shoves the gun against his teeth, not interested in having to deal with a bloody mouth or broken nose later, and Kotomine laughs softly against the back of his neck. He tastes metal, but mostly dust. He should probably clean the damn thing.
Relationships: Emiya Kiritsugu/Kotomine Kirei
Series: Kinktober 2019 [27]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1501079
Kudos: 50





	kinktober 2019 - day 27

**Author's Note:**

> i chose not to tag this underage, but there is an underage character kind of involved. see end notes for details if you want to know what you're getting into, but otherwise, enjoy!

Kiritsugu’s reflexes aren’t what they used to be.

That’s what he tells himself, at least, because he doesn’t want to think about the possibility that he’d given up entirely on trying to keep Kotomine from barging through his open door and pinning him bodily against the wall barely a few steps into the hallway, without even the decency to take his shoes off. Of course, even that would be a better scenario than the one scratching at the back of his mind—that Kiritsugu knew this would happen, and he _wanted_ it to. 

He supposes it doesn’t matter either way, as his body is no longer suited to employ any of the ways he used to avoid blows or break grapples, leaving him helpless as Kotomine crushes his wrists together behind his back with one strong hand, his other reaching into the drawer of the end table by the door, easily retrieving the gun Kiritsugu keeps behind a simple glamour, just in case. 

Kotomine tears a hole through his clothes, and Kiritsugu sighs. He'll have to mend it when Kotomine is done with him, before Shirou sees it and starts asking questions. He feels his wrists bind together with what he can only assume is a strip of the cloth Kotomine just tore, leaving Kotomine's hands free to make a fist in Kiritsugu's hair and press the gun to his temple.

It's not loaded. They both know that; the bullets are in the same drawer as the gun was, and Kiritsugu would have easily recognized the sound of them being placed in the chamber. But it's not meant to be a threat, not really, just like when Kotomine holds the Keys to his throat that are never meant to break skin, just like the times he brings his hands around Kiritsugu's throat but will never let him fall unconscious. It's a game, one that Kotomine alone takes pleasure in. 

He opens his mouth without protest when Kotomine shoves the gun against his teeth, not interested in having to deal with a bloody mouth or broken nose later, and Kotomine laughs softly against the back of his neck. He tastes metal, but mostly dust. He should probably clean the damn thing.

Kotomine's fingers are slick—with what, he doesn't know or particularly care—when they start to probe at Kiritsugu’s ass, and Kiritsugu’s teeth click against the metal of the gun in discomfort, but he still doesn’t try to pull away. By the time Kotomine has finished slicking him up and starts to push his own cock inside, all Kiritsugu can think about is whether he needs to pick up some groceries before tomorrow’s breakfast.

Until past the sound of Kotomine’s hips slamming against his own, he hears a softer noise—a tiny yawn. Not one from either of them, as exhausted as Kiritsugu feels. He freezes up.

“Dad?” he hears from behind the door to Shirou’s room, the door just a few paces from where Kotomine is pounding him against the wall.

For the first time since Kotomine arrived, Kiritsugu fights back.

He starts trying to burn up the cloth binding his hands together, but Kotomine crushes the fingers tracing the sigils in the air. He wrenches his head to the side to spit the gun out of his mouth, but Kotomine follows the movement easily, keeping it in place. He considers pounding his head on the wall as a warning to stay inside, but it’s riskier than simply staying quiet and hoping for the best.

All of his efforts and debates fall to pieces as the door slides open, and Shirou steps into the hallway, rubbing his eyes. “I heard—“

Shirou stops. Kotomine pulls the gun out of Kiritsugu’s mouth and angles it under his chin. “Be still, child,” he says, digging the metal deeper into Kiritsugu’s skin. “Or you might lose another parent.”

“Leave him out of—“ Kiritsugu starts, but Kotomine brings his other hand up in a crushing grip on his windpipe, and Shirou makes a terrified noise but stays where he is, completely frozen in place.

Kotomine has not stopped moving, the slick sounds impossibly loud in the quiet of the night, and Kiritsugu wants to keep struggling but finds his movements growing sluggish from lack of air.

“It’s rare to see you so spirited,” Kotomine says in Kiritsugu’s ear, his breathing growing heavier. “But then, you always did have trouble holding on to a family, didn’t you?” He turns his head away, and Kiritsugu sees Shirou’s eyes lock with Kotomine’s. “How long will this one last, I wonder, now that he’s seen you like _this?_”

Kiritsugu makes one last attempt at resistance and manages to get his teeth around a few of Kotomine’s fingers and bite, but Kotomine’s only response is to let out a sharp gasp and press his hips flush to Kiritsugu’s, and Kiritsugu grimaces as he feels Kotomine come inside him, leaving a disgusting wetness behind as he pulls out.

He coughs hard enough to nearly start vomiting when Kotomine lets him go, tossing him aside in a crumpled heap before heading towards the door without another word.

“Dad!” Shirou rushes over to him, pulling him into a sitting position—a painful one, but he tries to put on a calm face as Shirou frets over him. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I didn’t know how to stop him, I—“

“Shirou.” Kiritsugu puts a hand to Shirou’s cheek, somehow dry of tears. The boy is always so strong, maybe too strong.

“It’s going to be all right,” he says, putting his hand over Shirou’s eyes and whispering words that send Shirou wobbling to the ground, unconscious. 

He doesn’t need to remember this time, either.

**Author's Note:**

> this fic involves shirou, age before-kiritsugu-died, walking in on kirei fucking kiritsugu. he doesn't get involved physically at all. if you're comfortable with that, read away!


End file.
